


Perchance to Dream

by zoryany



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VI: Return of the Jedi, Star Wars Original Trilogy
Genre: Canon Compliant, Character Study, Dreams, Dreamsharing, Father-Son Relationship, Force Bond (Star Wars), Gen, The Force, luke and vader have a heart to heart, or at least as close to one as vader is capable of having
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-14
Updated: 2018-10-15
Packaged: 2019-08-01 18:34:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,774
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16289651
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zoryany/pseuds/zoryany
Summary: With the end of the war looming large on the horizon, Luke Skywalker and Darth Vader turn to the Force for guidance in the battle to come. The Force his happy to oblige both father and son at the same time, bringing them together through their bond and providing at least one of them with the answers they need.





	1. Connections

**Author's Note:**

> This is mostly just an entirely self-indulgent way for me to write a conversation between Luke and Vader in a way that could be plausibly canon-compliant. I've never written Vader before so I'm hoping his voice sounds alright in this thing. Ultimately, it's a short little character study in two parts, and I hope you all enjoy it !!

In orbit above the forest moon of Endor, the Super Star Destroyer Executor crackled with anticipation as its crew eagerly awaited their chance to take part in the waning days of the war. A charged calm had set in before the oncoming storm, and each officer and crewman found some way to prepare themselves for the upcoming battle. Most had simply thrown themselves into their duties, some chose to settle into tactics, and others still had taken to exercise and physical training. However, no matter their chosen task, they were all united in their gratitude for the scarcity of their commanding officer. They would never _admit_ as much – they valued their lives, after all – but nobody could miss his increased agitation since the Emperor's arrival at the moon. Tension hung over him in a dark, heavy cloud that followed him wherever he went. There was far too much tension aboard the flagship as it was, so his absence remained unquestioned as everyone working under him took it for the opportunity that it was.

Taking part in his own manner of preparation, Darth Vader had sequestered himself in his quarters, seated in the hyperbaric chamber as its sterile air flowed through his ravaged lungs. Each slow, laboured breath brought him deeper into the Dark Side as the Force swirled about and enveloped him within its folds. While it could not, accurately, be called _sleep,_ the deep meditative state he sunk into allowed him to rest, in some sense of the word, and contemplate the shifts in the Force that had been rippling through him with an increasing frequency.

In a matter of days, perhaps even hours, the war would be won. His master had foreseen it, and Vader himself could sense the truth in that. But assured as the Emperor was of their impending victory, Vader remained uncertain about the outcome. Many parts were still in motion and many pieces still lay on the board, waiting to make their move. There was time enough for the tide to _change,_ and while the Force spoke clearly about the nearing end, it was less forthcoming about just who would come out of this war alive.

It set him on edge, teeth grinding and stomach twisting as he felt the time to act ticking away, mocking him. _His son_ was out there, destined to play a leading role in the war's finale, and the ambiguity of Luke's fate weighed heavy upon him. His master claimed the boy would seek them out, would join them willingly and stand at their side in their victory.

Vader had his doubts.

Luke had proven himself to be something exceptional. The strength he radiated was unparalleled, beautiful and blinding despite the lack of training and experience he'd exhibited in each of their encounters. He exuded a righteous determination and conviction that was achingly familiar, and he possessed an infernal sort of luck that allowed him to evade capture as long as he had. Though their meetings had been brief and few, Vader had come to _know_ the boy, to understand him in a way his master never would. (Not as well as he would have liked, though. _Never_ as well as he would have liked...) Their confrontation on Bespin left Vader convinced that Luke would not join them of his own accord, no matter what his master had foreseen. It would take coercion, in some manner, for his son to fall, and at the hands of Palpatine that meant agony or death.

If that was what the Force had in store for Luke then so be it. He would deal with it. A part of him, however, insisted that there was still another way. If he had more time, if he could speak to Luke before he faced the Emperor, then perhaps he could be convinced to see reason.

In the interest of expediency, of course. To smooth the transition.

Unfortunately, the Emperor kept Vader occupied and unable to conduct his search personally. He'd enlisted the aid of several third parties but the boy, of course, remained elusive as ever. Despite the astronomical bounty on his head, he was skilled and intelligent enough to avoid those who would collect on it, and he'd proven more than adept at dodging imperial patrols. This did not come as a surprise, filling Vader instead with a frustrated sense of _pride_ in his son, but it was infuriating to have Luke continually slip through his fingers. There was, however, an alternative avenue open to him, a more personal one he could pursue without diverting from his master's wishes. Several times in the last year, Vader had reached for the burning imprint his son made in the Force, stretching along their bond and prodding at his presence. The response had been minimal, fear and guilt ringing through before shuttering back to an obstinate silence, but there was always an echoing reminder in the back of his mind that his son was _there,_ to be pursued when at last he had the chance.

Now, though, he could detect nothing of the boy. Despite the way the Force whispered about the future, despite what his master had said, despite the truths Vader himself knew, he could not sense Luke or make anything of his fate. It was certain that Palpatine had seen something that Vader had not, and he could be well-served by simply trusting the Emperor's vision allowing the events to unfold, but he had been lied to before. His own purposes did not always align with those of his master, and it was likely that Vader himself was not part of that vision of the future.

In the end, doing as his master wished may be the only option, but the part of him that would have, once, refused to accept that and chase what he truly desired, remained infuriatingly vocal. Vader sunk himself deeper into his meditations, either to _silence_ that blasphemous voice or search for a way to bring it to fruition, and the Force answered in the form of a bright thread tugging him forth. It was subtle in its insistence and unclear in its purpose, until the familiar nova burned bright at the fringe of his awareness. Though somewhat muted, the twitching flares of the presence rang true in their signature. Luke was asleep, and the Force had drawn father and son together in their rest. Much remained shuttered to him, giving no hints of location or secrets, but the surface shields were weak and flickering, a curtain that concealed but did not _block_ ; there was a chance that he could receive the answers he sought from Luke himself. The curtain parted, the shimmering shields shifting to invite Vader into the sickeningly familiar landscape of Luke's dream.

They were on _Tatooine._ His lips twisted into a snarl that pulled at scarred skin and sent shocks of old pain rippling through him. The desert was as vast and barren as he remembered, stretching endlessly into the horizon, carrying with it weight and despair. Above him blazed the suns, harsh and unforgiving, beating down upon the unfortunate inhabitants of this world, and just below them...

Below the suns, clear against the crisp blue sky, soared a skyhopper, dancing through the air with a grace one would never expect from the small craft. The pilot was unmistakable from his style and skill alone, but in this dreamscape, Vader could clearly make out the form of the boy even through the opaque walls of the ship. He appeared no older than twelve, far younger than Vader had ever known him, the last vestiges of baby fat clinging to the otherwise slim, grinning features. Joy radiated off him, burning like a third sun in the sky, as he flawlessly executed twisting stunts that would leave a lesser pilot a smear across the dunes. It was a clear picture of his son in his essence, bright and talented and laughing, thriving in spite of the harsh world below him. Vader _almost_ considered, briefly, leaving him to it, forfeiting any opportunity this shared dream might present. It would be _unfortunate,_ and he would be loath to do so, but perhaps Luke deserved this moment of joy and peace before the galaxy was torn asunder...

He _almost_ considered it, but the decision to remain was cemented when he spotted the figure seated next to Luke in the skyhopper.

The face was etched with lines, the dark blond hair peppered with gray, but the clear blue eyes and handsome features bore a resemblance to _the Jedi_ that was far more striking than he would ever care to admit. This was how Luke imagined his father, and the image he clung to even after learning the truth. It stank of denial – if his son could not accept reality, then he would not be able to sway Luke to his cause. Already, so much had been taken from him. He would not allow that weak fool to claim his son.

Rage twisted in a roiling pit at his core, rising hot and steady within his chest as he found himself rooted to the spot. Fixing his gaze on the skyhopper, he clenched his fists at his sides, willing the ship towards him. Set on a spiralling descent, the ground came up quickly below the craft before it crashed several feet in front Vader, a spray of sand exploding around it as a plume of smoke rose from its engine.  
  
Several long moments passed, seeming to stretch on forever, before the slight figure of the boy emerged from the wreckage, a bewildered expression colouring his features. Perching on top of the ruined ship, he glanced around frantically, first spotting the disappearance of his flight companion, then searching for the cause of his crash. It did not take the child long to spot Vader, shoulders tensing and face flashing with a blend of confusion, fear and anger. There was a brief hesitation before he climbed down onto the sands and took two steps forward, expression taking on a shade of acceptance as he stared at the dark figure casting a shadow across him.

While the suns remained high in the sky, the air around them darkened in the beginnings of a sandstorm, though the winds remained still and the swirling sands hung motionless in the air. Silence echoed between them, father and son holding each other's gaze as they took in the person before them. Luke's expression shifted several times, wary yet searching, but his eyes never wavered. Here stood his son, blazing with defiant determination, wearing a form Vader would never experience otherwise, and he suppressed his rage as he took a closer look at this version of Luke. Sun bleached locks lay long and disheveled against his brow, spilling around his face and down his neck. He wore the desert on his face, a smattering of freckles dusting the tanned cheeks beneath eyes so blue, they rivalled the sky and glittered brighter than the suns. The child was small – short in stature and narrow in frame – and the dusty white farmer's clothes he wore nearly swallowed him whole, serving to make him look smaller than he already was. Yet, however diminutive his appearance, he did not seem _fragile_. Holding his head high, standing tall and resolute, the boy was a shining beacon, illuminating the space around him even in the stark darkness of the frozen sandstorm around them.

“Luke...” A thousand things remained unsaid, everything he could hope to say compressed into that single word, the name of his son – the name _she_ had chosen – uttered like a prayer to gods he did not truly believe exist.

It took another minute for the boy's expression to finally settle. Any trace of anger or fear it once carried had faded, leaving him with a look of determination and a shade of something Vader couldn't quite name. When he spoke, the voice rang bright through the air, a gentle tenor that didn't _quite_ match the youth of his face, but carried a quality far softer than the ragged cries he'd emitted during their last meeting. “Well, this is... _unexpected._ ” Luke shot a glance back at the smoking wreckage of the skyhopper before turning back to wrinkle his nose and furrow his brow at Vader, his voice taking on a somewhat petulant tone. “You didn't have to _crash it,_ you know.”

“There was never any risk to you.”

Luke's scowl deepened. “No, I know, I wasn't worried about that. All I meant was that – well, you could have just _asked_.”

Behind his mask, Vader narrowed his eyes, but kept his expression carefully controlled. Just as he'd seen beyond the sides of the skyhopper, he was certain Luke could see beyond the plasteel of his mask – if not the precise features then certainly the expressions they bore. Perhaps he he possessed this ability, in some sense, regardless of where they were. It had been some time since he'd had to maintain this level of control with anyone other than his master. The prospect of his son being able to read him so easily felt... _odd,_ filling him with a level of vulnerability he wasn't accustomed to, along with shades of pride and satisfaction.

It was a connection he longed for, but had all but given up on after Bespin. “I had no guarantee of your willing co-operation.”

A deep sigh echoed across the sands. Through Luke's determination shone the barest hint of sadness, perhaps even regret, and his voice was soft and almost hesitant when he next spoke. “No. I suppose not. Then again, this isn't like... _last time._ ” He did not seem aware of the way his hands wrung together as he spoke, left thumb rubbing along the seam of the black leather glove that sheathed the right hand. Vader, in turn, did not notice the way he clenched the hand that mirrored his son's. “I've got nowhere to run, here.”

No. In this place, Luke would not run. But he _could_ push Vader out, put up his shields and conceal himself once again, rejecting his father the way he had when he'd let go of the gantry and tumbled toward the clouds below. However, the boy showed no intention of doing so, and perhaps that was what he meant. Withdrawal would risk revealing things he would rather keep secret, but he could not seem to consider forcibly ejecting his visitor.

“You cannot run from your destiny.”

“My destiny...” A slight crease twitched at Luke's brow, his gaze drifting to focus on some point beyond the horizon as a number of unvoiced thoughts flickered across his face. “I'm not so sure I know what that is, anymore.”

It seemed neither were being offered much in the way of certainty. Vader once again stretched out in search of answers, but the Force remained muted, as though it could not quite breach the stilled sands surrounding them. Frustration began to bubble up within him as the answers he'd come here to seek remained out of reach, leaving him with only vague hints that provided no more sense of clarity than he'd had at the beginning of his meditation. “No. That matter remains... unclear. But, one way or another, it lies with _me,_ my son.”

Luke did not recoil at that declaration the way he had at Bespin. Instead, he straightened his spine and raised his brows, slightly, carefully considering the truth that rung clear through the Force. “Yeah... I guess it does, doesn't it?”

“Then come with me.” Vader would never admit to the barest shade of _pleading_ that broke through his voice. “It is the only way.”

“No. I don't believe that.” The frown was back on Luke's face, lips pressing together as his gaze sharpened. Those eyes were far more piercing than they had any right to be, seeing far more than they ever should have been capable of. “I don't think _you_ believe that, either. There is another way. There _has to be._ ”

The boy was idealistic, naive and _stubborn._ He viewed the galaxy through a lens of errant _hope,_ which would certainly be his undoing, blinded as he was to the harsh reality of what lay ahead. Control was slipping further and further beyond Vader's grasp. “Not that I can see. You _will_ face the Emperor, soon. There is certainty in that. The only hope you have of standing against him lies in the Dark Side. I... would not see you destroyed, as Obi-Wan allowed himself to be.”

“ _You_ killed Ben.” Luke spoke it as a simple statement that carried none of the vitriol or accusation to be _expected_ from a statement such as that. “And the Dark Side would destroy me. I will not turn. If we do things your way then... you would destroy me, too.”

Those words, soft and earnest and melancholy, sent a heated stab through Vader that would have left him reeling back were he not frozen to the spot in this shimmering, ever darkening dreamscape. He wished they would have been spat at him, wished they would have carried any of the hatred or anger or revulsion he'd sensed in the boy at Cloud City. But much of that seemed to have dissipated, and something had shifted in his son. However little they knew of what lay ahead, a sense of clarity was settling over Luke. Some view of the future was crystallizing in his mind, a vision that would either manifest the true strength of his potential, or leave him utterly destroyed.

Father and son continued to stare at each other as silence howled between them, deafening as the stationary winds around them, threatening to stretch onward until their connection broke and they were forced back into the physical world. Vader searched for words that would not come. What could he possibly say to his son after a declaration like that? How could he hope to argue with a Skywalker who had already made up his mind?

Fortunately, he was saved the trouble when Luke, who had been searching for something since he'd first noticed Vader's arrival, finally seemed to find what he'd been looking for and broke the silence.

“I guess, in a sense, he was _half_ right,” he muttered under his breath, more to himself than anything. “ _From a certain point of view._ ” A wry smile twisted at his lips, not quite reaching the blazing eyes that continued to bore into Vader's mask. “Ben told me you betrayed and murdered my father, but that's really only half true, isn't it? You betrayed Anakin Skywalker but... I don't believe you truly _murdered_ him.”

“The Jedi were _weak._ ” The words came automatically. _This_ he could respond to, harnessing the rage of the past proving far less complicated than confronting the conflicted future. Those wounds had festered for over two decades, and the darkness flowed readily from them. He'd spent a lifetime ( _Luke's_ lifetime) rejecting that past and allowing that hatred to fuel him. These were truths he'd cemented, repeated to himself until any sense of doubt had been obliterated, leaving him only with the reality he'd helped to craft. “It was not a betrayal, it was a _mercy._ ”

“A mercy... I guess that's also what you'd consider turning me to face the Emperor. But mercy to _who?_ ” Again, Luke spoke softly, sorting through thoughts likely meant for no one but himself as he stared at the sand as though it held the answers he sought.

Ignoring the boy's mutterings, Vader pressed on. His rage had settled into a smouldering pit within him, bolstering his resolve once more. “You have learned much, but you will not survive if you cling to the Jedi ways. Your only chance at survival lies with the Dark Side. The sooner you accept this, the easier things will be.”

Luke's chin jerked upwards, tearing his gaze away from the ground to land sharply on the eyeplates of Vader's mask. “Even if it costs me who I am?” He still spoke softly, still wore a solemn expression, but an edge crept into his voice, almost a challenge. Few would dare challenge a Dark Lord of the Sith this way, and even fewer could hope to elicit a response that would not end in their immediate death, but Luke insisted on doing so anyways. Vader could feel a cold knot of dread twisting around his still-smouldering rage as the boy continued to speak. “There's more going on here. There's _another way._ And if there isn't... well, I'm not going to give up who I am just for the sake of survival.”

Vader's rage dimmed into embers, the cold dread blooming to engulf it. Resolve instead became apathy and resignation. The boy seemed to be set on wasting his potential and dying for the sake of some naive ideal – perhaps for the notion of remaining _free._ “You are a fool.” Freedom was, ultimately, a lie. Everyone wore chains, in some form.

“Maybe so.” Luke nodded and the ghost of a smile tugged at the corners of his lips. “But I'd rather be a fool who does the right thing than be considered wise for giving in to darkness.”

“You are certain that you are doing the right thing?”

The boy went quiet, for a moment, chewing the inside of his cheek as his brows knit together, a million unreadable thoughts dancing across his face. His eyes remained fixed, still uncannily meeting Vader's, yet seeming to look through him. “I don't know. But I don't think I'd like the person I'd be if I didn't at least _try._ ” An edge of uncertainty crept back into his voice, but he spoke firm and held himself true. Whatever he had decided he must do, there would be no power in the galaxy that could set him on a different course, now.

Movement rippled through the sandstorm, the dust clouds thinning as the grains drifted towards the ground, settling once more into the dunes. Though no longer obscured, the sky remained dim. Luke was no longer looking in Vader's direction, turned instead towards the suns sinking through the sky, being swallowed by the horizon, his glassy eyes following their descent. Gazing out at the fading light with a wistful sort of longing, he appeared even smaller – even _younger_ – than the form he wore here. Smiling grimly and finding truth in the setting suns, he appeared far older than the number of years he'd lived.

“I know what I have to do. Do you?”

The voice of his son echoed softly in Vader's head as the world went black around him. When reality settled and his eyes focused, he found himself staring blankly at the walls of his hyperbaric chamber, a heavy sensation settling over him. Several long, painful moments ticked past in solemn silence, broken only by rasping breaths that grew shallower as the weight squeezed his chest.

Luke had proven himself to be something far more exceptional than Vader could have possibly foreseen. He had been blind not to have seen it all along. He should have expected it, should have prepared for it...

Luke was, far too much, his mother's son.

That... _complicated matters._ In a sense, it was far better that the boy had inherited her kindness and righteous spirit than his father's reckless rage. Fitting, that she should live on in their child. But that thought threatened to tear open old wounds and send fresh stabs of failure through him, because it was, perhaps, far too late for that to matter. Whatever the boy had chosen to do, he would see it through to the end, even if it killed him.

There was a time, once, when the flames of his rage would have consumed him at that thought. He may very well lose his son the same way he had lost _her –_ turned against him by Kenobi and torn away by his master – but the weight in his chest had instead become apathy. In their encounter, Luke had given no acknowledgement of the truth, no hint that he had accepted who his father was, and if he could not do that, then what hope did Vader have of seeing his own plans to fruition? Ambition had flared when he'd first discovered the rebel carrying the name _Skywalker,_ it had fueled him for nearly four years, it had given him a purpose beyond simple obedient existence... But now, at last, it began to fizzle. His son may commit the patricide that seemed to be demanded of him, or he may martyr himself for some foolish rebel cause.

His master may see to the destruction of either father or son, or face destruction himself.

For Vader, there was nothing left to do but trust in the Force and allow the future to take its course.

 


	2. Resolutions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Luke considers the things he learned on Dagobah - and the lessons he learned after he left - and comes to a few conclusions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one's shorter than the first part. It's less plotty and basically pure character study, but a bit of Luke's perspective was absolutely necessary. Hope u guys like the conclusion to this lil project of mine !!

Luke awoke in the cockpit of his X-wing, blinking away a slumber he hadn't realized he'd fallen into. A quick check revealed they were still en route to rendezvous with the fleet, about an hour from their destination with Artoo confidently at the controls. The droid had taken over shortly after they departed Dagobah as Luke turned his own focus inwards to the conflicted thoughts that hadn't quite settled after his conversations with Yoda and Ben. He could remember falling into meditation in order to consider everything he'd discovered, and as his breaths slowed and his mind stilled, he'd drifted out of consciousness. Now, though, he was awake, and everything felt clear.

“I can take over from here, Artoo. Thanks.” The astromech twittered in response, a faint blend of amusement and exasperation colouring his beeps as he acknowledged the return to manual steering.

As the X-wing shot through hyperspace, a shift rippled through him, echoing right down to his core. Dagobah had changed Luke, in its own mysterious fashion, affecting him in a way he didn't realize he needed. It was a planet steeped in the Force, light and dark entwined in a swirling dance that both enticed and concealed _._  He'd changed the first time, too, gaining knowledge and strength through his training, though at the time he'd lacked the wisdom to fully comprehend what it all meant. It had taken the pain following that first visit for him to truly appreciate just what it was he'd gained there.

Leaving the first time led him to Bespin, where he'd found nothing but _loss._ Losing Han meant losing another friend, one he'd come to call a brother. It left a hollow place in his heart that had ached enough on its own, but sent a fresh, sharp stab through him whenever he caught a glimpse of the agony casting shadows over Leia's features when she was certain nobody else was looking. Luke had lost his hand, a throbbing phantom pain that did not quite compare to the conspicuous absence of his father's lightsaber on his belt. He had lost his duel, failing at the confrontation he'd left Dagobah for in the first place, failing at becoming the Jedi he was certain he could be.

He'd become well acquainted with loss as it followed him throughout the war. Each loss never really hurt any less, but the familiarity allowed him to find ways to sort through it, to acknowledge the pain and press forward. Losing Han had given them a task, a purpose to pursue in the days to come. The hand had been replaced swiftly with a prosthetic, and constructing his own lightsaber was a much needed exercise to train and test his skills, which he'd carefully cultivated in the year following that failed duel. Each loss held a purpose to be fulfilled, each pain held a lesson to be learned.

Each except, seemingly, the loss that haunted him the most – the loss of who he thought his father was. The loss of where he thought he'd come from. The loss of a significant piece of his identity.

The loss of something he didn't even know he could lose.

For months, he couldn't find the purpose in _that._ It was easy to focus on the tangible tasks of finding Han, building his lightsaber and training his skills, but every time he tried to find the logic in that fateful revelation, he came up short. Darth Vader was his father. Darth Vader, the man he'd spent three years _despising,_ was the father he'd spent a lifetime idolizing. There was no sense to it.

At night, his subconscious went into overdrive trying to sort through it. There were dreams, repeated and unending, plaguing every moment he hoped to find some rest. He dreamed of letting go of that gantry and falling, endlessly, into a void that swallowed him whole. He dreamed of letting go too late, of being caught and captured and Falling anyways. He dreamed of his friends suffering, of the pain they endured because of _him._ He dreamed of running, being stalked, being cornered, being caged. He dreamed formless, shadowy dreams that left him with a cold sweat and a twisting dread when he awoke.

He dreamed of wearing a mask, his towering form encased in stiff, heavy armour as his slow, even breaths echoed across the galaxy.

Each night, the dreams had been relentless, setting him into restless fits that really didn't count much as _sleep._ Some nights, he avoided trying to sleep altogether, but the images that flickered through his mind haunted him in his waking hours, too, spurred on by the fog that had settled over his mind from a combination of anguish and lack of proper rest. However awful it got, though, he was careful not to let it show, so he could keep contributing however he could. High Command had placed him on medical leave for several weeks, keeping him forcibly out of the field for a while, but he still worked on repairs, still attended briefings when he could, still spent time in the flight simulators. He went through the motions, because they were the only things that made sense anymore.

Of course, Leia had noticed – Wedge and the rest of the Rogues had, too, but they were easier to convince that his recovery was going better than it really was. Leia... was far more astute, and far more stubborn than his squadmates. She would respect when he truly wanted to be alone, but there were times when she insisted on sitting with him, perhaps one of their hands on the other's shoulders or maybe their fingers interlaced together, as comfortable silence passed between them. She had been suffering too, had her own burdens to bear, and maybe she needed that just as much as Luke did. It had been Leia's grounding influence that made those first few weeks bearable, even when the dreams threatened to consume his very soul, even when he felt on the edge of complete breakdown, as though the galaxy would crumble, taking Luke along with it. Things could never be the way they once were, not now that Luke knew what he did, but at least he had someone standing beside him to make it feel like they could, some day, feel _okay_ again.

After some time, his mind began to settle a bit. The dreams never quite _stopped,_ and he was still visited by the visions of his downfall, the darkness that could consume him, the monster he might be destined to become... But they were no longer the _only_ dreams he had. Through increased meditation, he could find rest in the Force that he could not find in sleep, and he threw himself into the tasks he'd undertaken. Moving past the more tangible losses made the dreams, and the loss they stemmed from, easier to bear.

Bearing those burdens didn't mean he'd accepted _the truth,_ though. Oh, he knew what the Force was telling him, knew exactly that whatever Vader had done, he hadn't _lied_ to Luke. He knew precisely what the truth _was._ He just refused to _accept it._ Accepting it meant accepting that he'd been lied to by people he trusted. Accepting it meant accepting how little he actually knew about his past. Accepting it meant accepting the darkness within him that he desperately did not want to confront.

So he avoided the truth until he couldn't avoid it anymore. In the end, it came back to Dagobah, and his second visit there provided what he needed to accept it - and understand why it had been concealed from him the way it had. He didn't agree, but he did _understand._ Ben and Yoda had only wanted him to be prepared for the truth, to be strong enough to keep a clear head. But they also wanted him to kill his own father, and as much as he'd avoided the truth after Bespin, in that time he still thought about the man he somehow knew his father had been. He remembered the stories he could coax out of Aunt Beru and Uncle Owen about the life of slavery his father and grandmother had lived. He remembered hearing all about his father's piloting, unparalleled skills that somehow became embedded in legends. He remembered rebels old enough to remember the Clone Wars telling stories about the Hero With No Fear, sweeping in to handle any situation, a Jedi celebrated by the Republic for his endless heroic deeds. Whoever Darth Vader was now, he'd been that man, once. He'd been Luke's father – and Luke _could not_ kill his own father.

So what was he supposed to do?

He would have to face his father again. Leaving Dagobah, Luke knew that much, at least. But could he really consider himself a Jedi if he went into that confrontation with the intent to kill? Could he still truly follow the path of the Light if he refused to even give his father a _chance?_  There had to be good in Vader, still, somewhere buried deep down. He just wasn't sure what he could do about it.

Through his meditation, he turned to the Force for answers, and it responded through his dreams. Perhaps it had been all along, each vision of darkness spurring him towards accepting a truth he worked so hard to deny. He could find no illumination for the future if he could not, also, acknowledge the reality of his past. Now that he had, the Force could, at last, guide him down the path that lay ahead. So it shaped his dreams, once again allowing him to sort through the discoveries he'd made.

First, he dreamed of Leia – and, if he was ever thankful for anything in his life, it was that his father hadn't been able to catch a glimpse of _that._ It was a reprise of an old dream, one he'd had many times as a child, but could never _quite_ remember or make out clearly. There had always been two figures, small and undefined, running across familiar dunes that shifted and morphed into larger, towering shapes. This time, everything had come into focus, sharpened by the newfound knowledge he carried about his _sister._ The small figures wore familiar features, the sands of Tatooine laid out before them in picturesque perfection, the endless horizon swallowed instead by what he was certain were the mountains of Alderaan. The two of them ran, laughter ringing through the air, echoing as they moved faster and faster until they began to soar high above the world below. As they flew, the sands and the mountains shimmered and shifted until they were above a verdant lakefront on no planet Luke had ever seen before.

Something about that lush, sprawling world seemed to call to him, and he longed to cling to Leia and explore it together, but the Force resisted – there would be another time for that. There were more pressing matters to attend to, first. Again, the world shifted, and he found himself above Tatooine once more, exactly as he'd known it, flying in a skyhopper rather than on the wind alone. Leia was no longer beside him, replaced instead by the figure who'd visited him in countless dreams all through his life.

_His father._

This, too, was a familiar vision, and he couldn't help but simply _enjoy it_ as he had so many times before. For the first time since Cloud City, he wasn't being haunted by the truth or being plagued by fear of darkness. He could, if only for a moment, allow himself to indulge in the little thrill he always got when he imagined flying with his father.

Foolish of him to think that this dream had been a reward for accepting the truth. No, the Force still had other things in mind, and this dream had only been to set the stage for what he was _really_ here for.

Vader's presence was clear as soon as he arrived, a sharp, distinctive cold that Luke couldn't really feel but settled over him nonetheless. He didn't believe it, at first, wondering if maybe his dreams were simply turning back to the same dark place they'd gone to since Bespin, but it was soon certain that Vader was actually present – with an obvious distaste for any reminders of the past. He had crashed the skyhopper, banished the vision of the man he'd once been, and held palpable contempt for the planet around them. In spite of that, though, he was still _there,_ seeming to reach out, in some manner, searching for the same sort of answers Luke was hoping to find.

Communicating with his father in this way felt... _different._ For one thing, they weren't locked in combat like every other confrontation they'd had. They were still on opposing sides of a war, but a momentary ceasefire allowed them to just _talk,_ and let discoveries come as they may. For so long, Luke had ignored the connection between them, as though he could will it into non-existence, but acknowledging the truth meant he couldn't ignore it anymore. Through their bond, they had the chance to feel each other out and try to gauge their intentions for the coming days. Luke had no idea what his father could sense in him, but the young Jedi's own discoveries certainly proved to be illuminating.

Even through that cold darkness, even after everything he'd done, even after decades of trying to deny it, there was still a sliver of Light within Vader.

Luke had suspected it, wanted to believe in it, but now he was _certain._ And he knew, now, that tiny speck of Light would be the key to everything yet to come. He could save his father. He was sure of it. He was still unclear on the _how,_ but that was so much less important than knowing that it could be done in the first place. It was a choice he was certain nobody would agree with, but it was the only choice he could see. Turning to the Dark Side wasn't an option, and neither was killing his father. Sacrificing himself to bring down the Emperor was a possibility, but the only answer that felt _right_ was bringing his father back to the Light.

Leaving Dagobah the first time, he'd been so certain about what he was doing, so convinced that leaving was the right choice, only to be proven wrong after landing on Bespin. He'd lost so much, and his conviction became a hopeless uncertainty about the future. Leaving Dagobah this second time, he'd felt nothing but conflict and confusion, only to find what he needed through the Force. This time, he'd gained instead of lost, and felt more certain than ever about what he was doing.

He had gained a sister, one he always had and would have forever. He had gained a father, a more complete picture of a man he hardly knew and yet finally understood. He had gained wisdom and purpose, an understanding of his place within this universe and the role he would play within it.

The X-wing shuddered as it came out of hyperspace, and as it drifted towards the gathered fleet, Luke could sense a buzz of anticipation emanating from the rebels aboard the ships. Part of him shared that same feeling, because they all knew how close this war was to its conclusion. Facing this second Death Star could mean the success of their goals or the destruction of everything they had worked for. The war would be won or lost at Endor, and there was an edge to the sense of everyone in the rebellion. Luke, however, most prominently felt _peace_ settle over him.

Whatever happened, he knew what he had to do.


End file.
